


The Not Quite Baby Griffin

by ellijay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellijay/pseuds/ellijay
Summary: Merlin and Lancelot go on a clandestine mission to deal with a magical beast, but not all goes according to plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The seed for this story was planted in my fic “As Cold As Any Stone.” It’s taken a while to get back to it, but here’s the result. A bit more light-hearted than my usual writing style, but of course, there always needs to be some drama. I hope you enjoy reading it.

During the year between Lancelot’s knighting and the Samhain’s Eve when it all went so terribly wrong, Merlin and Lancelot developed a habit of secretly handling minor woes of a magical nature that befell the kingdom. It all began with a griffin. Fitting, Merlin supposed, since the first time he and Lancelot had met, Lancelot had saved him from the attack of a griffin. Their first clandestine adventure after Lancelot’s second and lasting knighting, though, didn’t involve a full-grown griffin. If the report was to be believed, this was a small one, apparently very young, but still large enough to carry off small livestock.

Merlin considered that the griffin might very well be just another hallucination conjured up by the spores that had been sporadically infesting the grain crops in the surrounding villages, but it couldn’t be ignored because it was decidedly more realistic than most of the stories that had been reaching Camelot. Rainbow-colored pixies sneaking about in the night tickling people’s toes had been the latest. They’d disappeared after a stock of grain from the stores in the city was sent to replace the infected grain.

Arthur had grown so frustrated with false alarms of magical mischief and mayhem that he’d tasked Merlin with sifting through the reports and bringing any that seemed realistic or relatively serious to his attention. The rest were to be handled by sending replacement grain to the affected area to see if that resolved the issue.

According to the mandate he’d been set by Arthur, Merlin should have taken the report of the griffin directly to the prince, but the knights’ attempt to vanquish the last griffin hadn’t ended well. It had taken magic to defeat the beast, and magic meant Merlin. Lancelot would be needed as well. After all, there had to be someone to wield the enchanted weapon needed to kill a griffin, and Merlin was decidedly rubbish with weapons.

He easily found Lancelot in the one place he most often was during the daytime if he wasn’t on the training field – in the armory tending to his gear. This time it was sword sharpening. Merlin shook his head and frowned a bit. Honestly, the man needed to find something else to fill some of his free time, but Merlin supposed it was all part of the excitement of finally becoming a knight, free and clear of any deception that might strip him of his title as it had done before. Merlin also had to admit that in this case, Lancelot’s finely-honed knightly skills were going to come in quite handy. As was his knowledge of Merlin’s magic. No sneaking about this time.

Merlin paused a moment as he considered that he would be able to openly cast a spell in front of Lancelot without fear of incrimination or repercussion. It was a heady thought, that kind of freedom, and he paused a moment to savor it before selecting the largest spear from the rack and taking it to Lancelot.

“Here. You’ll be needing this,” Merlin said as he handed the spear to Lancelot, who gave Merlin a puzzled look as he set down his whetstone to take the offered weapon. “There’s been a report of a baby griffin devouring the livestock around the village of Mirren.”

Lancelot’s eyebrows went up. “A _baby_ griffin?”

“Well, maybe not quite a baby,” Merlin replied with a shrug, “but not fully grown. It’s mostly been eating chickens, but apparently it stole a goat a few days ago.”

“Ah,” Lancelot said with a nod of understanding. He laid down his sword and stood up to inspect the head of the spear. “And am I safe in assuming a not-quite-baby griffin needs to be dealt with in the same manner as a fully grown one?” His voice sounded casual on the surface, but there was definitely more meaning underneath.

“Yes, Lancelot,” Merlin replied a bit impatiently. It wasn’t as if there were anyone else in the armory to overhear their conversation. “Creatures like griffins are born with their magic. They don’t suddenly wake up one morning with magical abilities sprouting out of their ears.”

“Really,” Lancelot said with a slightly mischievous grin as he leaned over to peer into Merlin’s ear.

Merlin leaned away from Lancelot and glared.

“Sorry,” Lancelot said, instantly contrite. He lowered his eyes, and Merlin thought he could actually detect a hint of color in the man’s cheeks, but then Lancelot turned his attention to the spear. “Should do for a smallish griffin, but it’ll need sharpening. When do we leave?”

“As soon as possible,” Merlin replied. “I haven’t delivered the report to Arthur yet, and I’d like to have it over and done before he hears about the griffin from someone other than me. I shudder to think what chores he might heap on me for not bringing it directly to his attention. I’d probably be picking horse dung out of my hair for the next fortnight.”

“We should go by horse, then. Mirren’s at least a half day on foot and it’s mid-morning already.”

“Too suspicious,” Merlin said with a slight shake of his head. “Arthur will know something’s going on if he sees you and me ride out together on horseback.”

“Then you head out on foot and I’ll follow a bit later on horseback. We can meet at the first fork in the road. I’ll take Odhran. He’s strong enough to carry both of us.”

“Right, then. That’s settled,” Merlin said with a nod, but then he added, “Better leave your knight’s gear behind as well. This isn’t an official patrol, after all. And let me take the spear. It’ll draw too much attention if you leave armed with anything other than a sword.”

Lancelot frowned in evident confusion. “And how is your carrying a spear out of the city not suspicious?”

“If I take the head off and put it in my herb gathering sack, the rest is just a walking staff,” Merlin replied with a grin.

Lancelot stared at him a long moment before he said quietly, “You do this sort of thing all the time, don’t you?”

Any amusement Merlin had been feeling at their deviousness quickly evaporated. “Yes, Lancelot, I do. Someone has to.” The admission made him feel somehow vulnerable and awkward, so he attempted to lift the heaviness of the mood by saying, “Now let’s get going before someone else loses their chicken dinner.”

Lancelot laughed and handed him the spear, but then his expression became serious again. “Make me a promise, Merlin,” he said as he laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Depends on what it is,” Merlin replied warily. He found he didn’t want to lie to Lancelot or make a promise he didn’t intend to keep. Despite deception being a way of life for him, Lancelot was different. Lancelot knew about his magic and hadn’t condemned him for it.

“You’ve got me to help you now. No more running off trying to deal with magical threats on your own.”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and he felt a bit of one of his many burdens lifting from him.

*****

Finding the griffin was actually quite straightforward once they’d reached Mirren. The creature had taken down a sheep just that morning and the burden had apparently proved almost too much for it. It hadn’t been able to fly away but had dragged the carcass back into the woods, leaving a clear trail of trampled vegetation intermittently smeared with blood.

The villagers were quite willing to share what little information they had, mostly descriptions that confirmed it was a griffin, conflicting reports as to its size, and directions to the blood trail. They seemed relieved to receive any help, but they were nonetheless a bit disappointed and concerned that only a servant and one knight had been sent. Merlin was quick to reassure them that Lancelot had slain a griffin before, and they seemed suitably impressed. Even so, they were more than eager to withdraw behind the stone walls of their homes as Merlin and Lancelot set out into the forest.

As they cautiously crept among the trees, following the griffin’s path, Merlin noticed that Lancelot was occasionally peering intently at the head of the spear.

When Lancelot’s scrutiny of the weapon became both annoying and worrisome, Merlin asked, “Is there something wrong?” He spoke quietly because they really had very little idea how far the griffin had gone from the village.

“Other than traipsing through the forest looking for a blood-thirsty griffin, no,” Lancelot replied in a whisper laced with sarcasm.

“No, I mean with the spear. You keep looking at it.”

“Just making sure I didn’t miss any spots when I sharpened it.”

“It looks sufficiently pointy to me,” Merlin said in an attempt at humor. Lancelot glared at him in reply and stopped walking. Merlin halted as well and looked at him questioningly.

“You should probably...” he said as he waggled his fingers at the spear. “Just so we’re ready.”

Merlin sighed in exasperation. Yet again there was no one near to overhear them, but Lancelot persisted in being obscure. “You mean go ahead and cast the spell?”

“Of course that’s what I mean,” Lancelot replied, lowering his voice even further and casting a furtive look at the trees.

Merlin rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath, but he set aside any further comments he had on the matter of magic and secrecy and how he’d been doing this for so long that he had a good idea of what was and wasn’t safe. Then he thought about how what they were doing now wasn’t exactly safe and that the outcome was by no means certain. “Fine then,” he said as he gestured at the spear. “Hold it out and I’ll cast the spell. I’m not sure how long it will last, but I can cast it again if need be.”

Lancelot lowered the spear until it was parallel to the ground then looked expectantly at Merlin. Merlin raised his hand and took a deep breath, then paused a moment. It felt strange casting a spell so openly. It made his heart beat a bit faster, and there was a strange feeling in his stomach, not fear but something more like joy. A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, but then he composed himself and said the words.

“ _Bregdan anweald gafeluec!_ ” Warmth immediately rushed from his chest, up to his eyes where it turned his vision briefly gold, then down his arm and through his fingers. The magic was free and certain as it had not been the last time he’d cast this particular spell, and the head of the spear immediately glowed blue. Merlin lowered his arm in satisfaction, both at having cast the spell successfully on the first attempt and at the sense of liberation he felt at being able to stand tall and use magic in the open without fear of what might befall him afterwards.

Lancelot raised the spear to stare wonderingly at the swirling light, then he turned to Merlin and grinned broadly. “I see you’ve been practicing since the last griffin,” he said, and the expression on his face was nothing but approving.

Merlin felt a bit of a sting in his eyes at his magic being met not with distrust or outright condemnation, but with acceptance and appreciation. He quickly set the feeling aside, though. They still had work to do. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve got a griffin to slay.”

Only a short distance further through the forest they found it, the juxtaposition of eagle’s head and lion’s body oddly beautiful but also disturbing as the beast crouched over the remains of the sheep. Little was left but bits of bloodied wool and glistening fragments of bone, but still the griffin savaged it, its beak and chest smeared with gore. It was a fearsome sight, despite the beast being less than half the size of the one that had attacked Camelot all those years ago. This one’s head was at most shoulder-high, whereas the other had loomed much taller than a full-grown man.

Despite its preoccupation with its recent kill, it quickly caught sight of Merlin and Lancelot, fixing them with its golden glare. It paused for a moment, perhaps uncertain of the strange blue light and what it meant, but then it let out a shriek and took a few tentative paces towards them.

“Stand aside, Merlin,” Lancelot said as he adjusted his grip on the spear and hefted it to the height of the griffin’s chest.

Merlin immediately did as he was told. He’d completed his part of the task in casting the magic. The rest was up to Lancelot. Merlin knew the knight’s aim would be true. His resolve was certainly unshaken judging by his stance and the determination in his eyes.

The griffin didn’t make any further move to advance, so Lancelot began to slowly close the distance between them. The creature apparently took this as a clear threat because it reared up on its hind legs and let out another harsh cry. Then it started to charge towards Lancelot. He took a firm stance and adjusted his grip on his weapon, but then the light surrounding the head of the spear flared and dissipated, leaving him with nothing but a common spear to defend himself.

“Merlin,” Lancelot called out urgently as he took a few steps backwards.

Merlin quickly raised his hand and started to close the distance to Lancelot, wanting to make sure the magic went precisely where it was supposed to go, but his foot caught on something on the forest floor, and he went tumbling to the ground. He landed on his hands and knees and instantly pushed back on his heels, his hand once again lifted to cast the spell. There was almost no time. The griffin was nearly upon Lancelot, who was showing absolutely no signs of turning and running away.

Merlin took a deep breath and shouted the words of the spell, his desperation turning his magic from mere warmth to a burning that seared through him and went leaping from his fingers to the spear, setting its tip aflame with blue light once again. The beast reared up, Lancelot thrust forwards, and the spear pierced the creature’s hide with ease. But then the griffin was falling towards Lancelot, shrieking and flailing, talons slicing the air.

Merlin didn’t think. He moved, straight towards Lancelot. There wasn’t time. He bought a little more with a desperate outburst of magic. The world briefly froze around him, and he was able to reach Lancelot and shove him out of the way. But then in the crashing of fear and elation, Merlin’s hold on time slipped. There was a slice of fire across his lower back and his vision went white from the pain. He felt something slam into his chest and vaguely realized it must be the ground, then all his senses dulled and faded away.

He returned to awareness what must have only been a short while later because he was still face-down in the dirt. There was a painful, hard pressure on his lower back, and Lancelot was calling his name and telling him to wake up. He tried to answer but all that came out was a groan. His back truly hurt and whatever was pushing on it wasn’t helping matters.

“Merlin?” Lancelot leaned into Merlin’s field of vision. He looked worried.

“What happened?” Merlin mumbled. He wanted to get up off the ground but the sharp ache in his back told him that probably wasn’t wise. Pain usually meant injury, and it was best to assess such things before moving people about.

“The griffin caught you across the back with its talons,” Lancelot replied. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Oh,” Merlin muttered, understanding slowly dawning in his pain-addled brain. That explained the pressure on his back. “How bad is it?”

“I haven’t taken a good look yet,” Lancelot said. Merlin could suddenly no longer see the other man’s face. He must have leaned away. Then there was the cool touch of air on Merlin’s back and a long moment of silence.

“What?” Merlin prompted when Lancelot didn’t offer any further information. A grisly image of mangled flesh went through his mind. If that were the case, though, shouldn’t it hurt more? Maybe he was in shock.

“It doesn’t look deep,” Lancelot finally said, his voice reassuringly steady. “But it’s a long wound. Right across your back from side to side.”

Merlin heaved a shuddering sigh. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. “You’ll have to stitch it,” he said matter-of-factly, trying to keep his own voice even. He hated being on the receiving end of stitches, and there were going to have to be a lot of them in this case. At least he had some basic medical supplies in his herb gathering sack.

“Me?” Lancelot’s voice seemed to have raised in pitch a bit. He obviously didn’t like the idea. “I don’t know how to stitch wounds. Perhaps there’s a healer in the village.”

“Then you’ll have to leave me here while you go and fetch help. I can’t move very much like this. The wound will open even more.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Lancelot replied with vehemence.

“So there’s that settled. Do you at least know how to sew?” Merlin dearly hoped Lancelot had some experience with a needle and thread. Otherwise, this was going to be a potentially horrible ordeal, not to mention the scar that would be left behind. He had enough of those already, but at least most of them were relatively neat and tidy.

“Yes. I usually had to see to my own clothing during my travels. There wasn’t always a seamstress available, nor could I afford the services of one very often.”

Merlin gusted a relieved breath. “Good. That’s good. This won’t be much different, other than... Well, it’s not quite like stitching cloth, but the basic technique is similar. I’ve got a couple of needles and some silk thread in my bag. There’s a bottle of disinfectant as well. Probably best to flush out the wound first. No telling what all the griffin might’ve had on its claws.”

“I’ll have to pull the bag out from under you. You fell on top of it.”

“Oh.” That explained the lump under his hip. “Pull it out then.”

It seemed a simple enough task, but Lancelot had to shift Merlin off the bag a bit in order to get it out. Merlin hadn’t quite been prepared for the flare of pain the movement set off across his back. He bit back a yell, his mind berating him at the same time that he was an idiot for not having any pain medication among his supplies. The bottle he’d had in his bag had accidentally broken a while back and he’d kept forgetting to replace it.

There was some rustling and clinking, then Lancelot said, “I’ve got the disinfectant.”

“Okay. Just pour it across the wound. There’s some linen for bandages in the bag as well. Use of a bit of that to clean up the excess and wipe away any dirt or other debris you can see.”

There was a bit more rummaging, the sound of tearing linen, then a sense of stinging heat racing over Merlin’s back and burrowing down into his flesh. He tried not to yell but couldn’t quite manage when the burning didn’t immediately dissipate. That set Lancelot to profusely apologizing.

“Lancelot,” Merlin said sternly when he finally caught enough of his breath to speak again. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”

A long pause, then Lancelot said quietly, “But it is. I’m the one who should be hurt, not you. You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way like that.”

“But I did, and I’m not sorry,” Merlin said firmly, then added, “Now would you please sew up this stupid wound so I can get up off the ground? I’m tired of having half my face in the dirt.”

“Sorry.”

“Lancelot,” Merlin said with a bit of frustration.

“I _am_ sorry, and nothing you say is going to stop that. Lift up your head a bit.”

“What?” Merlin was confused by the last statement. He had no idea what lifting his head had to do with guilt or apologies.

“I said, lift up your head a bit.” When Merlin still didn’t comply, his brow wrinkling in confusion, Lancelot added with a bit of exasperation, “I’m going to put something under you so your face _isn’t_ in the dirt.”

“Oh. All right.” Merlin tilted his head away from the ground and waited a moment while Lancelot slid the nearly emptied bag under him. He settled back down with a slight sigh. Although the fabric was rough, it smelled comfortingly of herbs and was at least dry instead of damp and gritty as the ground was.

Then a stray thought crossed Merlin’s mind, and he asked, “How badly are my shirt and jacket torn?” He supposed it should be the least of his worries at the moment, but the state of his clothing was going to be important at some point. He might have to conceal his injury when returning to Camelot depending on what alibi they were going to use, and then there would be mending later. Hopefully he wouldn’t need a new shirt or jacket. He didn’t think he could quite afford it at the moment, and going begging to Arthur for an advance on his wages wasn’t exactly an appealing thought.

“No damage at all, apart from the blood on your shirt. The griffin’s talons must have gone up under the hem.”

Merlin nearly laughed in disbelief but stopped himself. It would probably hurt. Instead he settled for saying, “That’s a small blessing.”

“A very small one,” Lancelot replied. He sounded a bit distracted. That was explained a moment later as he said, “I’ve got the needle threaded. What now?”

Merlin didn’t really want to go into specifics, but Lancelot would need the guidance, so he tried to distance himself, pretend that he was instructing Lancelot how to stitch someone else’s wound. “The simplest way to do it is for you to pinch the edges of the wound together, push the needle through both sides at the same time, pull the thread through, then on to the next stitch. If you can manage to knot the thread around itself every few stitches, that will help to hold everything in place. You’ll have to do that at the beginning and end at the very least.” He paused for a moment, trying to think if he had forgotten any important detail, then added, “Only pull each stitch taut enough to close the wound or the thread could bite into the flesh or even tear it.”

“Anything else?” Lancelot asked, his voice very matter-of-fact and not sounding at all worried. Merlin wondered if that was truly how he felt or if he were simply trying to reassure Merlin. It did help, a little.

“No, that’s all.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then tried to relax his muscles. When he was as calm as he thought he could manage, he said, “You can go ahead now.”

There was quite a bit of pulling after the first stitch as Lancelot fumbled a bit working to ties both sides of the thread together. The sensation put a twist in Merlin’s stomach, but after that Lancelot’s movements became more regular, his hands gentle and steady. The prick and pull of needle and thread became a steady rhythm that Merlin was almost able to put out of his mind. Almost. It still hurt each time the needle pierced his skin, but after a while, everything started to go a bit numb and hazy. He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until Lancelot shook him back to full awareness. It took him a moment to comprehend that Lancelot was telling him he would need to sit up to be bandaged.

The thought of moving was rather unappealing, but Merlin knew it had to be done. With Lancelot’s help, he was able to shift himself to his hands and knees and then into a sitting position. Lancelot gently helped Merlin to remove his jacket and then his belt, finally pushing the shirt up to his shoulders where Merlin was able to hold it in place without having to stretch very much. Then the winding of the bandage began. Lancelot was surprisingly adept at it, making quick work of passing the strip of linen around and around Merlin’s midsection and then tying off the ends.

Merlin let go of the shirt and sighed with a bit of relief as Lancelot tugged it back down, then helped him back into his jacket. They left the belt off since it might rub against the wound. Lancelot rolled it up instead and tucked it into Merlin’s bag. Now there was nothing left but standing up and hobbling back to the village. With Lancelot’s arm under his shoulder and around his back, Merlin started to push up off the ground, but the feeling of the stitches pulling at the edges of the wound nauseated him so much that he somehow found himself on his hands and knees retching so hard that he forgot about the pain in his back for a moment in favor of the wrenching of his guts.

When his stomach finally decided to stay where it was instead of forcing itself up into his throat, he took several long, shuddering breaths. He realized Lancelot was holding his head off the ground with a hand under his forehead, while his other hand was rubbing soothingly across Merlin’s shoulders. He felt a bit embarrassed by the situation but set the feeling aside. It was ridiculous and not truly important, and all he wanted was to get away from this clearing and back home to Camelot.

After drawing a deep breath to steady himself, Merlin said, “All right. Let’s try that again.”

“Are you certain?” Lancelot replied. He sounded more than a touch doubtful.

“I can’t very well stay here on my knees,” Merlin said with annoyance.

Lancelot didn’t bother to respond but instead turned to action, once more pulling Merlin’s arm around his shoulders and very slowly and steadily hauling Merlin up from the ground. This time it went considerably better, with only a bit of dizziness. However, Merlin’s legs felt shaky. The thought of walking all the way back to the village was decidedly unpleasant.

Lancelot read the situation quite astutely and said, “Here. Let’s get you over to that tree. You can sit and rest while I fetch the horse from the village.”

“That sounds like a fabulous idea,” Merlin said with a hitch of agreeable laughter. “I’m more than happy to let you have all the glory when you tell the visitors they’re safe now.”

“You always are, aren’t you? Content to let others take the credit for what you’ve done?” Lancelot asked quietly as he and Merlin slowly made their way over to the indicated tree.

“I don’t really have a choice, Lancelot,” Merlin replied, and he couldn’t keep the sadness entirely from his voice. “Not if I want to keep my head on my shoulders.” He didn’t elaborate beyond that. The truth was that it did pain him from time to time that his contributions had to remain hidden. It wasn’t so much that he craved praise and recognition. It was only that he felt a keen desire to be free and open with who he truly was. At least he’d had a taste of that kind of liberty today with Lancelot.

After Lancelot settled Merlin on the ground with his upper back gingerly propped against the tree, he left with a single backward glance of concern. Merlin forced a smile and gave him a wave, then he was alone with no one for company but the corpse of a half-grown griffin. He contemplated it for a moment, wavering between satisfaction that the villagers and their livelihood were now safe from further attack, and feeling an odd sort of kinship with the beast. They were both creatures of magic after all, but he firmly told himself that the resemblance ended there. He was not a monster, not a killing beast.

A dry, choked laugh escaped his lips. Not a monster, perhaps, as he had once almost believed, but he’d certainly learned how to kill. He quashed the uncomfortable thoughts by raising his hand and speaking a single word. “ _Forbearnan._ ”

Fire leapt up from the remains of the griffin and the spear that still pieced it. The flames burned tall and hot and bright for a handful of moments before receding and sputtering out. Nothing was left behind in memory of the creature but a small space of burnt ground and a story to be told by the fire at night in the village of Mirren.

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from painful thoughts and physical discomfort by deliberately thinking of something pleasant. A warm bed and a long rest came to mind. He must have gotten lost in the thought because he actually did fall asleep. Or maybe he passed out. It amounted to the same thing, he supposed. In any event, it ended with Lancelot shaking him awake again.

Unfortunately, Merlin didn’t find himself magically transported back to his own bed, nor did he think he’d have the energy to do so with magic even if he knew how. The wound had taken its toll, whether in blood loss or shock or a combination of both, he wasn’t sure and didn’t particularly care. It all amounted to exhaustion and a deep ache spreading through his entire back. He couldn’t give in to his body’s desire to rest yet, though. There was a still a horse to mount and a long ride back to Camelot. He groaned at the prospect.

Lancelot helped Merlin to rise from the ground once more, and once he’d gained his feet, Merlin looked over and saw that there were two horses waiting for them. “I borrowed one from the villagers,” Lancelot explained. “They were more than happy to oblige. I figured it would be easier for you to have your own mount than to try and sit behind the saddle again.”

Merlin let out a gusting breath of relief, but after Lancelot had shuffled him over to the horse, he groaned at being faced with the prospect of mounting. A slight detour to a fallen log solved the problem, though, and Merlin settled into the saddle with a wrenching of pain in his back and a bit of lightheadedness, but no further damage or embarrassing incidents of nausea.

As they set off through the undergrowth back towards the road, Merlin found that his borrowed horse was surprisingly nimble and picked its way among roots and over rough patches of ground with apparent ease. There was still some inevitable jostling, though, and his muscles were beginning to knot with tension when they reached the road.

To distract himself from the resultant sharp twinges of pain in his back, he turned his attention to figuring out what he should tell Arthur about the day’s events. Half-formed excuses and outright lies tumbled through his head, from the simple (he’d found a horse wandering in the forest and then had fallen off it and hurt his back) to the convoluted (something involving bandits sneaking up behind him and then Lancelot arriving to save the day and the spare horse belonging to the bandits and being left behind in their haste to escape).

“We should tell him the truth, Merlin,” Lancelot said quietly. “At least as far as we can.” Merlin turned to look at him, not sure that he’d heard correctly. Lancelot fixed him with a very serious expression as he added, “I’m guessing from the look of concentration on your face that you’re trying to fabricate some story to tell Arthur. If we’re going to keep doing these sorts of things, we need to tell him the truth as much as we can and leave the lies and omissions for when it’s absolutely necessary.”

Merlin looked away, chagrined at Lancelot having read him with such apparent ease and a bit angry at the unspoken truth that the lies would almost always be about magic. He wanted to argue – he’d managed to keep a mountain of lies balanced precariously on his shoulders after all – but he had a feeling Lancelot wouldn’t give in. They both needed to be in agreement, so he grudgingly acceded with a sharp nod of his head. He couldn’t help but add, “Arthur’s going to be angry that I didn’t bring the report directly to him.”

“Probably. But he’ll forgive you. Won’t he?”

“I don’t know that I’d call it forgiveness,” Merlin said softly. If only it were true that Arthur would always forgive him. He could be honest then, every time in every way. There wouldn’t have to be secrets and lies. “It’s more like tolerance of my idiocy,” he added wryly.

“You’re not an idiot, Merlin,” Lancelot said firmly.

Merlin gave him half a smile and returned his attention to the road. They didn’t speak for the rest of the way back to Camelot.

When they arrived, Arthur demanded an explanation for Merlin’s injury. He was told the edited truth. He was angry. He predictably called Merlin an idiot. He chastised Lancelot for going along with Merlin’s hare-brained scheme and set him to sharpen every sword in the armory. He threatened Merlin with mucking the stables for a month, but by the time Merlin’s back had healed sufficiently to withstand such labor, the threat was forgotten.

In the end, everything went back to the way it had been, except for the fledgling alliance between Merlin and Lancelot. They were friends, but they were also more than that. They were both dedicated to Camelot and its king and would do whatever was necessary, in the dark or in the light, to safeguard them. That was their true bond, from the beginning to the very bitterest end.

*****

The End


End file.
